


You're the Eighth Wonder

by anthemofourlives



Series: Expensive Mistakes [1]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Drunk Sex, M/M, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 14:16:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13859463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anthemofourlives/pseuds/anthemofourlives
Summary: I know it's just a number but...-Spans most of season 1, this absolutely did not go the direction I wanted it to in that I forgot just how miserable Eliot is in the first season and BOY I AM SAD.This builds up to the emotions bottles sex, I might make it a series and keep going after but I'm undecided.





	1. Chapter 1

-

Eliot Waugh never quite understood what it meant when someone was described as breathtakingly beautiful until he saw Quentin Coldwater stumbling out of the brush and onto the Brakebills campus for the first time.

Given, there was a certain air of being completely unsure of himself, not to mention the heaps of anxiety. He was almost more cute than drop dead gorgeous, lucky for Eliot he didn't really have a type, so somehow it worked out that Quentin was. His type that is. And now Eliot was rambling in his own head so he might as well stop staring at the lost child and be somewhat useful, seeing as that was Henry's exact request.

-

"I'd like it if you could make yourself somewhat useful," a deep voice said from above where Eliot was lounging out in the sun behind the physical house. Eliot sighed and cracked one eye open to look up at the dean of the school who was standing over him, disapproving expression that usually sat on his face deepened.

"Well, Henry, I'd love to. But I'm sort of at a loss for what you want from me," Eliot drawled, closing his eye again "You see the semester hasn't actually started and the little first years haven't arrived yet. My responsibilities are taken care of."

"Then lend a hand," Fogg told him, placing a card on his chest "The incoming class might not be here yet but they will be arriving shortly. This one is your responsibility now. Be a gracious host, won't you?" And with that the dean strolled away.

Eliot looked at the name on the card and snorted “’Quentin Coldwater’? What kind of fairy tale bullshit name is that?" 

He reluctantly got up from the lounge chair he was stretched out in and went to go find Margo and see whether she'd been assigned a lost sheep to try to herd. He'd love to find an easy way out and who was better at finding loopholes that seemed so elegant no one noticed how lazy they actually were than Bambi? His best friend was sitting on a couch inside the house, idly flipping through a textbook that was most likely for an upcoming class she would ace this semester. Eliot sat himself on the couch next to her.

"Hi bitch," she said, looking up from the textbook and at the card in his hand "Are you actually just getting to that now? You know, there's a difference between making something seem effortless and actually just being lazy about it, there's nothing impressive in the latter."

"What are you talking about?"

"The card in your hand... we got those at opening remarks, all the second years got assigned an incoming possible to guide onto campus so they don't get lost before their entrance exam."

"Opening remarks? You actually went to those?"

"I don't like surprises, you know that," Margo squinted at Eliot, finally slamming her book shut and setting it on the coffee table "Seriously, what were you doing? Blowing some guy in the bathroom?"

"It was the broom closet, and it was kind of worth it. Like, fifty percent worth it. So what, Henry Fogg couldn't figure out that I was the only one not there until today?"

"More like he punished you for not being there by only giving that to you this morning. By the way if don't get that kid here in time for the exam you're on probation. And I'm not going to sacrifice our parties for this, so I guess I'm stuck helping you. So, who is he?"

"Haven't looked into it yet," Eliot said miserably "'Quentin Coldwater'? How can we even be sure he exists, because his name is ridiculous."

"What we're not doing is blowing it off on the chance he isn't. Give me that," she snapped, snatching the card from Eliot's hand "It's almost too easy to figure out where the kid is, so what's your excuse?"

"Being lazy and expecting you to fix my mistakes for me," he said as Margo shot him a glare and cast a simple locator spell on the card.

"Shut up and get me a map asshole, I'm not going to do all the work for you."

-

"Simple but effective," Eliot announced, finishing the spell that would lead the fairy tale prince to the Brakebills campus.

"Don't congratulate yourself yet," Margo said warningly "This guy seems like the lost puppy type."

"Which is why I plan on literally taking him by the hand and leading him to the exam," he assured her "Not to worry love, I have taken every possible precaution to make sure this goes without a hitch."

"Good, because you're so boring when you aren't totally focused on throwing a fabulous party. Just make sure leading him by the hand to his entrance exam doesn't turn into leading him by the hand to your bedroom, at least not until after the exam is over. Our social life depends on it."

"Please, I'm not that much of a slut. Besides, I'm not sure I can stomach the thought of shacking up with someone with a name quite that ridiculous."

"First of all, I can't believe you just lied to my face like that. Second of all, wasn't your high school boyfriend's name Earnest?"

"That's besides the point."

-

Eliot was definitely that much of a slut, but something about the confused face of Quentin Coldwater made Eliot want to take whatever would happen as slow as possible. Didn't mean he wouldn't be an outrageous flirt, but he had self control and the incredible ability not to bang every mildly attractive guy he came across.

"Quentin Coldwater?" Eliot called out from where he was lounging on the marble ledge that announced the school’s name and smoking. He knew in his this outfit it was a striking, overly dramatic look, and that’s exactly what he wanted.

"Uh-huh..." Quentin replied, a million questions seeming to fly across his face at once.

"You're late," Eliot paused for dramatic effect, and to see the panicked expression flit across the other boy's face "Follow me."

 

"Uh, okay. Um... hey! Di-... where am I?" Quentin stuttered.

"Upstate New York."

"Upstate... but I was just... hey. Okay, wha-what is this place?"

"Brakebills University," Eliot explained "You've been offered a preliminary exam for entry into the graduate program."

Quentin briefly paused, then "Am I hallucinating?"

"If you were, how would asking me help?" Eliot retorted "Come on, or you'll miss it."

After dropping him off in the exam hall and closing the door behind him, Eliot noticed Margo leaning against the wall outside.

"I know you're a tad more fond of interpersonal interaction than I am, but I have to say that seemed a bit excessive," Margo said.

"What can I say, I love to make an impression," Eliot sighed "God, did you see him? All that nervous energy, I bet he fucks like a rabbit."

"Ugh," Margo replied, stalking away "He looks like he was just reading Narnia this morning."

"Maybe that's what I'm into right now. It's endearing."

"Suit yourself, but focus, because right now we have more important things to focus on. If he gets in you have as long as you want to seduce him."

"Fair point," Eliot said "Besides, pining is unattractive on me."

-

"I can't believe you said he's not that cute," Eliot pouted after they’d returned from giving Quentin an impromptu tour.

"Look, can I see the appeal of the lost puppy? Yes, of course, it just seems like a lot of work from guy who's jumped from fling to fling with any other guy on campus since we started school. You don't like complicated, and Quentin seems like nothing but a load of overcomplicated emotions," Margo grabbed her friend's hand in both of hers in a gesture of comfort "I'm just trying to protect you, sweetie. I like the boy enough, but I love you more.“

“Bambi, you are wiser than I give you credit for," he admitted.

"Yeah, you and everyone else in the entire world. So go get changed into a new vest and let's get to making drunken mistakes, which are much preferable to sober, over thought ones.”

"Have I ever mentioned that I love you more than anyone else in the entire world?"

"Yes, but it's always nice to hear it again. Now go, I was being completely serious."

-

And so, Quentin Coldwater became both of theirs to guide through his his fumbling transition into the world of magic. They were sitting out in a courtyard, idly passing the time while Quentin was working on applying the real magic he’d learned to the card tricks he’d been memorizing since he was a child. Margo caught Q staring pensively out at someone passing by.

“Ah, one of those every year,” she observed. 

“One of what?”

“Overachiever. Shy, yet knows they're smarter than everyone, therefore everyone hates them.”

“Yeah, Alice is, like... I don't know how she does it,” Quentin admitted.

“That's Alice Quinn? Yeah, don't bother trying to compare yourself. I heard she comes from a whole family of magicians. It's good to be aware the world is inherently unfair. Act accordingly,” Margo said sagely as the girl took a seat at the benches across from them, then changed tones quickly to call out “Hey, Alice, come join us. Make some friends. Take a load off.”

Alice quickly got back up and stalked away. Either she’d heard their conversation or she was truly just that distrustful.

“Poor, little magic girl,” Eliot drawled, exhaling the drag of his cigarette he’d been holding in for effect, smirking.

Quentin nodded vaguely, then snapped his book shut.

“I’m, uh-” Q gestured after Alice, “Gonna make sure she’s alright.”

Margo watched him march off after Alice with raised eyebrows, then shot a pointed look at Eliot.

“It’s puppy love, my dear,” she told him warningly.  
-

And yet, Eliot still wakes up with Quentin in his bed a a couple mornings later. Not even a week here and this lonely little nerd had worked his way into Eliot’s heart. Not that he was about to admit that. It was nothing but a little innocent drunken snuggling, turned into making out, turned into Q rambling to Eliot halfway incoherent, but still completely adorable. Q was huddled into Eliot's bare chest, one arm thrown loosely around him, long hair thrown wildly around his face. Honestly, Eliot could try to find a million ways to defend the ridiculous, soft, fuzzy feelings forming in the pit of his stomach, but all he wanted to do right in that moment was kiss the top of Quentin Coldwater's head and pull him in tighter. At the same time, the risk that he would wake up, then leave in a rush out of embarrassment was just one Eliot couldn't take.

Last night had started without any intention of this. Eliot was seriously trying to follow Margo's advice, but a few drinks with the whole physical cottage and a few chosen first years eventually meant a few more, then Margo passing out on her favorite chair and Eliot carrying her up to her room, and he bumped into Quentin, leaving the second floor bathroom. So they stayed upstairs, Quentin's nervous energy a little more unwound from the alcohol, and damn was he an affectionate drunk.

"Thank you, I mean," Quentin mumbled into Eliot's shoulder "For taking me under your wing. Honestly I thought you'd get bored and annoyed with me way faster."

"Well as much as I'd love to play the saint, I can't admit to being entirely without ulterior motive," Eliot chuckled "Q, you're much more beautiful than I think you want to realize, and apparently charity cases are my thing now. Plus, I trust in my own ability to turn you into a partier yet. You can't get rid of me easily, once I commit to a project I'm determined to see it through."

"I object to the term beautiful," Q huffed, propping his head up on his elbow to better show off his furrowed brow to the other boy "And I'm not too fond of being a charity case."

"That's fair, but I can't help it if I find you beautiful," Eliot said, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind Quentin's ear. Quentin's other hand went up to meet his, holding it in place.

"I mean, uh, it's a little unfair, considering you're all... handsome and confident and... I don't know, spectacular."

Eliot couldn't help the bit of hysterical laughter that bubbled out of him at that. Spectacular? He was about to ask incredulously, then he saw the flurry of rapidly calculating thoughts crossing through Quentin's expression, he knew a drunken ill-advised decision was about to happen before his very eyes as the other boy's face started moving in towards his own. Their lips met briefly, but sweetly, long enough that Eliot was dizzy from forgetting to breathe but not long enough for him to properly respond.

"I-uh, I wanted to... uh-" Q stammered when he pulled back, before Eliot curled the hand that was still resting on Q's face behind the back of his neck and smiled his most charming smile.

"Shut me up? I'm afraid it takes a little more work than that, darling," he purred before pulling Quentin back in for another kiss.

This time Quentin relaxed into it, Eliot could almost feel him unwinding the shaky anxiety and putting all the residual tension he had into the kiss. Eliot parted his lips and Quentin basically poured himself into Eliot's mouth. It was going to sound cheesy but he swore he could feel sparks when their tongues touched, as if he was twelve years old again and had never kissed before. Eliot felt alive, and he responded in kind, pulling Quentin in tight with his other arm holding the small of his back. Quentin's hands came up to tangle in Eliot's dark curls as they shifted on the bed, Quentin laying on top of him, very nearly straddling him. And then he was, as Quentin sat up and pulled off his hoodie and t-shirt, then started loosening Eliot's tie a little clumsily. Eliot gently grabbed Quentin's hands 

"What's your end game here, Q?" Eliot asked, deftly removing the tie and starting to unbutton the vest.

Something a bit like panic appeared on Quentin's face, his hand coming up the pull his floppy hair back from where it was hanging like a curtain. He opened his mouth and let out a series of mumbled stutters, none of which Eliot could identify as an actual word, much less a response. Eliot propped half way up on his elbow and brought the other arm up to cradle the boy's face, his unbuttoned vest and shirt hanging open.

"It's okay, consider me thoroughly charmed. I just don't want you to do anything you're going to regret in the morning. Nor do I want to take advantage of a drunk little first year, no matter how inebriated I am as well," Eliot said soothingly "And if this is your first time with a man-"

"It's not. You can't just assume that," Q said indignantly "That's not what this is, a fleeting interest or a drunk experiment. I'm genuinely interested-"

"Okay, Q, I'm sorry," Eliot responded "But no matter how genuine your interest, you can't deny you have a bigger interest in Alice. So let's put this on pause for now, and we can revisit another time."

Quentin looked like there was something he wanted to articulate, but couldn't find the words. He took a deep breath and fell back to the side off of Eliot, collapsing back onto the bed, their legs still tangled up together. Eliot felt a twinge of regret, like he was self sabotaging instead of self preserving. Pushing Q away and towards the pretty girl in his class.

"Sorry for killing the mood," Eliot said carefully, rolling over to look at Quentin, trying to minimize damage.

"Was that not your goal?" Quentin asked, wry smile on his face. No harm there, it seemed. Or, at least minimal.

"Touché," Eliot said, and pulled Quentin into his arms, placing a soft kiss into his hair. Quentin cuddled himself right in, fitting like a puzzle piece against Eliot.

"It's not that simple, you know," Quentin said, speaking a little easier when he didn't have to make eye contact. "More interested in you, more interested in Alice, more interested in... well, I just don't think of it that way. I don't have a list in my head that orders who I'm most attracted to."

"I don't think anyone does Q," Eliot laughed "that's not exactly what I was implying."

"I don't understand what you were implying then. Sure, Alice is pretty, but she also has no time for me or anybody else. You're pretty and you actually seek me out to spend time with me."

Eliot quietly contemplated that for a while, until he noticed Quentin's breath even out and the boy began softly snoring. He was still convinced he didn't actually have a chance with Quentin. Not a real one anyway, Eliot truly did not see himself as relationship material, just a one night stand or occasional fling. He hadn't held down an actual boyfriend since the aforementioned Earnest, and their relationship quickly dissolved once it became clear Eliot was never coming back to their rural hometown once he left for college. He was too out of practice to try, and Quentin was too incredible to hurt if he couldn't get it right. Maybe in another life.


	2. Chapter 2

-

So in that moment, what Eliot did instead was gently untangle himself from Quentin, pull a blanket over the boy, and sneak out of the room to ask Margo. Despite passing out cold last night she would already be up and in a fresh new outfit, showered and ready for the day. Eliot flopped onto her bed and let out a dramatic sigh.

“Bambi, I am in desperate need of your advice.”

"What is it?" Margo asked, unimpressed expression on her face as she was finishing her makeup at her desk.

"Well, there may or may not be a little first year in my bed."

"It's not Quentin Coldwater, is it," she said sweetly "Because you know I warned you that it would all get too complicated all too quickly with him."

"And you were correct, of course, but in my defense he mostly started it and I stopped it before it actually went anywhere," Eliot admitted "But he fell asleep before I could get him safely back to his own dorm. I don't know if I have it in me to face him in the cold light of morning though."

"Oh god, grow a pair, won't you? You've been flirting with him literally since the first time you laid eyes on him, now when he shows some interest in you you're scared? Give me a break."

"Alright, alright, but consider that I'm not actually emotionally prepared for Quentin Coldwater."

Margo rolled her eyes at him. "Listen, El, you're my best friend and I literally want to spend the rest of my life listening to all your stupid problems. But I didn't realize catching feelings for a anxiety ridden nerd who needs a haircut was going to turn you into such a little bitch. Go out and find some nice distraction that'll help you stop pining so much for the one you won't let yourself have."

“I thought you told me that I shouldn't pursue him to begin with."

"Yeah, and you obviously were not capable of following that advice," she said exasperatedly "Telling you not to now is just beating a dead horse. You clearly don't have the ability to not flirt with him, so finding someone else to distract you isn't a bad idea. I stand by it."

"And your advice for this morning?"

"Get your ass back in your own damn bed and wake him up? You have the social skills to not make it awkward, lend at least that to him, because his type will be in a blind panic waking up in a friend's bedroom at least partially naked - I'm guessing-” she snapped with a pointed look at Eliot’s state of attempted undress, “with said friend long gone."

As always, Margo was too observant and absolutely correct. Why did he have to be best friends with a girl who had both the sharpest wit and tongue. He groaned as he got back up off of her bed.

“You have five minutes to go get rid of him before I come in and do it for you,” Margo informed him.

Eliot raised a finger in response as he trudged back to his own room. Though he was as quiet as he possibly could be, Quentin's twinkly brown eyes blinked open as the door softly clicked shut. Every intention to run away from whatever was between them simply vanished.

"Good morning sleeping beauty," Eliot said, voice an almost whisper as he took in the small frame of his half awake friend, who's brow immediately furrowed.

"I'm pretty sure Sleeping Beauty gets the courtesy of a kiss to wake her up," Q retorted, voice scratchy from sleep and last night's alcohol.

"Oh, I like you hungover, Q," Eliot responded, crawling back into the bed. The grouchiness was extremely endearing, and the sleepy expression on the other boy's face was enough to make his heart melt. He was beginning to forget Margo's advice completely. "Come here then."

Eliot lifted Quentin's face up by the bottom of his chin and planted a small kiss on his nose. This only deepened the disgruntled frown on Q's face, which made a smile spread across Eliot's. 

"I don't like me hungover," he grumbled, pulling the blanket over his head "I'm ugly, grumpy, and smell," His muffled voice insisted.

"I strongly disagree with your first point-" Eliot started before his door flew open and the sharp click of heels stalking in told him Margo wasn't even about to trust him alone with Quentin anytime soon.

"Get up already!" She barked out at him "We have plans today asshole. Hello Quentin, sorry, but I'm going to have to steal your very handsome cuddle buddy away from you."

"Plans?" Quentin repeated, poking his head out from under the blanket.

"Yes, sorry," Margo replied, going through Eliot's closet and deftly picking out an outfit for her friend before bending over and and scooping up Quentin's discarded top from last night "Very important, top secret, big girl plans. Here you go, dear."

She handed Quentin the crumpled tee and hoodie, then threw the outfit that had been carefully matched haphazardly at Eliot.

"I thought I was your dear," Eliot protested weakly, still not having moved from where he was curled around the smaller boy.

"You are nothing when you forget your responsibilities to me," Margo snapped, arms crossing over her chest "Now get up, you are truly taking the term 'useless gay' to whole new levels."

"Rude," Eliot said, finally rising up and changing into the clothes that had been pelted at him without even looking at them, confident in Margo's fashion sense.

"Honest," she corrected, then turned her attention back to Quentin, who was still slowly blinking the sleep out of his eyes. "Sorry, hun, do you need a lift back to your dorm or do you think you can manage the walk across campus yourself.”

"No, I-I... uh no I," Quentin stuttered, finally seeming to jolt awake "I'm going."

"Good,"  Margo said as Q started to pull his shirt back on over his head hurriedly and grabbed the sweatshirt, leaving the room with only one of his socks on.

"Poor dear forgot his shoes," Margo observed blandly.

"You terrify him, Bambi,” Eliot retorted, half amused.

"I don't mind that," she said with a shrug.

"Do we actually have plans I forgot about today, or are you just that protective of me?"

"I'm fiercely protective of you, don't ever question that. We are going to have to go out and do something today though, I suppose. Hadn't really thought it out."

"I really was fine," Eliot insisted "There was no need..."

"You're practically drooling over the boy, El. Plus you're no fun when you're depressed, I figure I should nip the inevitable in the bud. Minor let down, minor hurt feelings."

"I'm always depressed, dear." 

"Not as much when I'm here to distract you. Come on, I'll admit that Quentin has a certain charm, in his own tragically adorable way. And I can’t help but see what you see in him. Now you can admit you're better off as friends, because I want to have fun with both of you, and I’m really not a fan of third-wheeling.”

-

Apparently their plans for the day were break into the faculty kitchen and bake illicit cookies, eat half of them, then go find Quentin and gift him the rest. Surprisingly, mostly Margo’s idea. Her fondness for Quentin seemed to increase even more while intoxicated.

They found him by the payphone, a relic and some of the only working technology on campus, and they caught the last couple words of his conversation.

“Okay, party. Good.”

“Oh, party?” Eliot echoed, holding up the plate of saran wrapped cookies, “Party.”

“Oh, we're coming,” Margo said, still a little breathless from their run across campus.

“No, it’s not-“ Q started, hanging up the phone.

“Yeah, you go back out there to great, big, boring world, you’ll never find your way back without us,” Eliot informed him matter-of-factly “Trust. So is it black tie? Or, um…”

An adorable smile spread across Quentin’s face as he looked at the two of them, he seemed happy that they wanted to spend time with him.

“I’m guessing not, because he’s wearing the same hoodie he wore last night,” Margo observed, though not as sharply as usual, and she still had a smile on her face.

“No, it’s nothing fancy, it’s just a bar in Manhattan.”

“Well suit yourself, but I use any excuse I can to get dressed up,” Eliot said “I urge you to put even just a little more effort into that outfit since we are going together.”

“Fine,” Q exclaimed, “I don’t have much in the way of nice clothes but I will… try.”

-

Q wound up wearing the hoodie with a grey peacoat over it.

“Uh…I’m not sure that constitutes as ‘trying’,” Eliot protested when they met back up in the physical house to depart “You threw a jacket over it.”

“Slipped my mind,” Quentin replied with a shrug, “How are we getting there?”

“You wound me, Coldwater.”

“We’re portalling,” Margo said as she casted, with a series of complicated hand movements the doorway in front of them was a back entrance to the bar. Eliot smirked as he saw Quentin try to suppress how clearly astounded he was by the display as they stepped through.

“I believe that’s your party,” Eliot told Quentin, leading him towards the obvious birthday, a guy wearing gag glasses and opening presents trying to get a morose looking girl who was barely paying attention to join the festivities, “We’re going to… mingle.”

He and Margo twirled off as Quentin was greeted by his friends, and they found their way up to the bar. Eliot got himself and Margo drinks, then scoped the bar for anyone at all he could, as Margo suggested, distract himself with. Either he was way too into Q or there was really no one here even mildly interesting.

“Is it just me or is this bar populated by the most uninteresting people on Earth?” Margo asked him after she’d had a good look around.

“Thank god,” Eliot said “I was really starting to fear our friend was way too in my head.”

“Well, there’s only one thing to do when your prospects are this bleak.”

“Sit in the corner and people-watch while making scathing comments?”

“You truly are my soulmate.”

It passed the time well enough, there were an abundance of poorly dressed people in the unfortunate establishment. Then it turned into a game, and they were standing at the bar taking shots for every baggy flannel or poorly matched scarf. Basically anything they could critique meant take a drink, and soon they were completely smashed. Meanwhile Quentin had a few drinks with his party, then went outside with his friend, from which he returned from looking gloomier than the girl had before their arrival. 

Margo gestured for Q to follow them over their laughter and tripping over one another.”How’s my hair?” Eliot asked over his drunken giggles. “Who rained on your parade, Q?” Quentin gave a small smile, avoiding eye contact.

“Look, I’m sorry if you two are having a good time but would you mind if we just got out of here?”

“No offense sweetie, but this is the dullest bar I’ve had the misfortune of spending any amount of time in,” Margo said, in what Eliot imagined she thought was a consoling voice “We’d be only too happy to get the hell out of this dump.”

“What she means is anything to make you comfortable,” Eliot said, putting a comforting arm around Q, who melted a little into his side.

“You wanna talk about it?” Margo asked, peering over from the other side of El, but Quentin shook his head, “Okay then, let’s go.”

It was a horrifically uneventful night, all in all. But in a strange way, Eliot was able to see how much Quentin had come into his own in just his first week at Brakebills. Sure, he was still tragically awkward and anxious, and if you caught him at the wrong time you could almost see on his face just how dark and dreary a place his unoccupied mind was. But at a party with his college friends Q had looked sad and out of place. He seemed to have a terse, forced friendly relationship with his friend’s boyfriend, and there was a strain in whatever friendship he had with the girl. The rest of the people seemed mostly like strangers to him. At least he had Margo and Eliot in Brakebills. 

“Hey, uh…” Eliot started while Margo drew up a portal as they exited the bar, “DId you need to stay at the physical cottage tonight? It’s just that-“

“Your roommate seems like a dick and he’s always fucking his girlfriend in there?” Margo blurted.

“He’s very handsome though,” Eliot said contemplatively, “So I suppose that could be a plus.”

“Um, thanks,” Quentin said in a small voice, “But I can handle it tonight.”

-


	3. Chapter 3

-

As soon as Margo and Eliot heard that there had been a traumatic incident involving the first year class in which the dean had been seen being carried away on a stretcher and the professor in a body bag, they rushed to the hall to collect Quentin.

“And Alice too,” Margo mentioned decidedly “Quentin seems to have his little heart set on her so the least we can do is be welcoming.”

It was somehow just second nature for them to be the emotional protectors of this scared little first year, and they took this duty very seriously.

“There they are,” Margo said in relief as they ran up to the two, who seemed to be having an argument.

“Glad to see you kid,” Eliot put a comforting arm around Quentin as he led him away from the hall hurriedly.

“Oh you poor thing,” Margo took Alice’s arm and followed suit, trying to get them away from where they witnessed… whatever happened as quickly as possible.

“Nurse?”

“Are you okay?”

“No? It’s okay, we’re just going to get you a nice drink. Jesus, you didn’t tell me you were dangerous.”

They got them back to the physical house as quickly as possible, clearing out the common room of the degenerates. Eliot welcomed Alice to the cottage and offered drinks, which she didn’t seem keen in partaking in as she immediately tried to leave, until Margo reeled her back in with clothes and a firm grip. Alice gave Quentin a desperate look, but the kid seemed a little too in shock to be of much real help. Eliot continued mixing drinks then suggested they take the conversation outside.

“So, what exactly happened in there?” Eliot immediately asked, getting right to the point, “I mean the tiniest bit has gotten around about it but…”

Quentin stutteringly and somewhat reluctantly launched an explanation of the havoc him, Alice, Penny, and Kady had somehow caused. He didn’t go into exact specifics, but there had been some sort of summoning. Obviously ill-advised and something four first years would have to be either half crazy or entirely too full of themselves to attempt.

“On purpose? Like, you guys cast it, thinking, ‘Oh, monster from another world, by all means, come on in.’” Eliot paused, seeing Q’s obviously defeated expression, “So, you messed up.”

“It’s a little bit bigger than ‘messing up’” Quentin retorted, getting aggravated that Eliot wasn’t seeing the severity of his actions and getting up to pace, anxiety barely contained in his small frame and needing some sort of outlet.

“Than what? Than whatever blew up the entire third year class? There’s a bad story every few years around here, I’m not sure that’s avoidable,” Eliot said in another attempt to get Quentin to calm down even a little bit, but it obviously wasn’t having the desired effect, “Okay. And if you confess-“

“Then I’m done!” Quentin shouted, worst fears finally coming to the surface.

“Yeah…” Eliot said before taking in another drag of his cigarette.

“Uh…” Q let out the sound like a nervous sigh, working up the nerve to admit something, “Before I got here, I was in the hospital. I have -or I had… I don’t know- this thing that I couldn’t shake where I felt like because nothing was ever not gonna be pointless and empty, then uh, why go on?” Quentin started spurting out all in one breath, not able to hold eye contact as he did, finally admitting that it was amazing he survived not knowing about being a magician.

Eliot offered a nod in agreement, he could have guessed all of this, but it was Quentin’s to get off his chest and he realized how big it was for him to be admitting to a stranger. He was sympathetic, depression and all of it’s nasty effects on the brain were no stranger to him. Eliot also told him about a spell that would make anyone unable to read Quentin’s mind under questioning. 

“I’ll write it down, it’s bulletproof,” Eliot told him reassuringly.

“Thank you, “ Quentin said, finally pulling out a chair to sit back down, “Now can you just help me live with myself?”

“Okay, I’m gonna tell you something deep and dark and personal now. Ready? Good. I killed someone,” now Eliot was the one admitting to something, something he wasn’t sure he’d ever said out loud but had haunted him for years and years. It replayed perfectly in his mind, well preserved as if it was right in front of him again. The taste of the candy bar in his mouth, the fear as his childhood bully crossed the street to beat the gay kid up once again, the bus coming from behind, the flash of a thought, if the bus hits him he won’t be able to hurt me, barely formed before it played out in front of his eyes. Logan Kinear dead on the pavement, blood spilling from his own nose onto his shirt. “And that is the story of how I discovered I was telekinetic.” He took a steadying lungful of smoke in, feeling a bit shaky from spilling his guts to someone he’d only met a little over a week ago. A dark past for a dark past, he figured.

“If you’re trying to tell me that it gets better-“

“God, no. No, it doesn’t, I’m trying to tell you, you are not alone here,” he said before Quentin could finish that train of thought, and hear himself saying the truth that him and Margo had to stumble onto themselves a while ago, magic doesn’t come from talent, it comes from pain. It had become something like a little personal mantra, this will only make you stronger. Until you break. There still is only so much pain one person can handle, especially if they have the tendency to bottle it up and only show a superficial mask to the world.

-

Eliot only hoped that anything he had divulged was actually helpful to the boy. He could give Quentin a spell to prevent anyone from reading his mind, but he couldn’t really help his nervous, twitchy disposition that was sure to read as suspicious. Eliot couldn’t imagine that would improve under the stress of questioning. So when he saw Quentin crossing campus, all his books in hand and frighteningly blank expression on his face, it seemed his fears were valid. Eliot felt his mind rushing at something near the pace Quentin’s must usually go, racking every inch of his brain for anything that could be even slight useful to help Quentin stay, please just let him stay.

“You do not have to make me feel better, we basically just met each other,” Quentin said in what seemed like an attempt to get Eliot to let him be to wallow in this misery alone.

“Well, I bond fast. Time is an illusion. Look, don’t go out there and be the old you.”

“How, Eliot,” Quentin asked desperately, seeming lost, “I go back there and I’m a… I’m a depressed super nerd.”

“How about I find you, and I don’t say magic is real, but I do seduce you, and so lift your spirits that life retains its sparkle for decades.”

“Yeah, that sounds nice. Thank you.”

Quentin probably thought it was just a joke aimed at the night he’d spent in Eliot’s bed, but if Eliot were honest with himself he wasn’t sure he’d be able to leave Quentin out there, suffering in the big wide, boring and empty world, all alone. He honestly wished there was an actual way out of this whole mess for his friend. The only way for him to keep learning magic would be to turn to the hedge witches, and that was just disgusting and degrading, not to mention dangerous.

-

Rumors flew around the school following Quentin, he threw battle magic at his roommate and it backfired, he was the one who had single handedly summoned the creature from another dimension, and he had been controlling it the whole time (why else would it know his name?), he had asked the dean to join his plot to take over the world on the first day, the dean had declined and this was Quentin’s retaliation. Eliot knew these were mostly hysterical rumors becoming more and more ridiculous as they spread, but his concern for Quentin Coldwater was growing, especially since he knew the whole tossing battle magic around seemed to be true from the infirmary records. God only knows where Quentin picked that up.

“Pretty impressive, if you think about it,” Margo said “Illegal, potentially deadly magic from someone who’s only known that magic is real for a week? Between that and the summoning ritual, our Quentin’s going to be quite the troublemaker.”

“He’s being expelled, Bambi.”

“I just don’t buy that. Past students have had to cause a lot more trouble before actually being mind-wiped and thrown out. I think they’re just trying to make an example out of him, Sunderland trying to flex her muscle while Fogg is incapacitated. But I doubt this will actually end in Quentin being expelled.”

So, when news came that the specialist who’d been called in to wipe Quentin’s mind had told the school to give him one more chance, Eliot threw… a barbeque. Yeah, he’d probably have to work on his methods of showing someone how much he cared, but it was somehow ingrained in him. Back in his dark small town past, the way of celebration for any accomplishment was a barbeque, and he considered not getting kicked out and mind-wiped a great accomplishment. When Quentin came back around the house, apparently having dunked his head in a fountain to make sure that this wasn’t a dream, they were already a couple Bloody Mary’s in. He couldn’t help the surge of adoration he felt seeing his friend round the corner, stunned look on his face, and he wasn’t able to keep it out of his voice.

“Quentin!” he exclaimed, and Quentin smiled softly, still apparently in shock, “Get over here!”

“Quentin,” Margo joined in calling the boy over “Come on!”

“Join the party, sad sack. Hurry it up. Oh my god, it’s not like we have all day,” he said teasingly.

“We’re so drunk,” Margo informed him.

“Okay we have all day.”

They both burst out laughing as Quentin walked straight up to Eliot, unceremoniously dumping his case on the ground before slamming into him with a tight hug.

“Careful, love, I have sharp objects in hand.”

“I thought I’d never see you guys again,” Q’s voice came muffled from where his face was buried in Eliot’s shirt.

“Hey, I thought I told you I would never let that happen.”

“Okay, I’m just drunk enough to want in on this,” Margo announced before attempting to wrap her tiny arms around both boys. She hummed happily for a moment, then let go, “Now that’s enough of the sappy stuff, grab a drink, Q, and let’s actually get this party started.”

She grabbed another Bloody Mary from a tray, handed it to Quentin, and watched him until he held his hand up in a mock surrender and took a sip.

“There’s a good boy, now we’re having fun!” 

Quentin smiled an actual genuine smile for once and seemed to relax a bit, the shock from the events of the past two weeks seeming finally fade a bit. Eliot continued tending to the grill while Margo tried to question Quentin about what had happened with the specialist. Over the course of the afternoon, she manages to get 3 and a half drinks into him, but he still seems pretty reluctant, or embarrassed, to talk about it. Eventually he somehow steers the conversation away and onto some niche late nineties TV show they somehow both have nostalgia for and they spend hours talking about it. Quentin looks overly pleased whenever he’s able to get Margo to laugh, and Margo looks positively affectionate as she tucks Quentin’s hair behind his ear. They end up all in Eliot’s room, draped over one another on the bed and absolutely gleeful and giddy at Quentin being let off the hook.

-


	4. Chapter 4

-

Quentin gets placed in the physical cottage, though apparently his discipline is ‘undetermined’. They have extra space, so that’s where he’s placed. And Eliot is definitely not over the moon about that, not at all. He’s very careful about not showing that he’s pleased about it. So, he drinks to hide that, and well… he drinks just because that’s what he does. He’s thoroughly out of it by the time Quentin and Alice make it into the cottage, a spectacularly dramatic entrance that includes a burnt hole in their door. Phosphoromancy, bitches, indeed. He stumbles over with a couple cocktails and a “Welcome to our gracious abode”, then abruptly turns on his heel and walks away, leaving the two a little stunned and speechless as they took it all in. 

Margo was already lounging in the corner when he made his way over, and she patted her lap in invitation for him to lay against her. The easy, casual affection they had was comforting, nothing ever overcomplicated. They’d automatically gravitated to one another, a natural match. So naturally Margo knew that Eliot was staring at Quentin, pining.

“You and your first year boys,” she observed “What’s your obsession with the flavor of the month?”

“Oh, come one,” he drawled “He’s a high-strung super-nerd. We love those.”

They both laughed, unable to deny that both of them indeed had a soft spot for him. Meanwhile, it was almost like the rest of the party wasn’t happening around Quentin and Alice, he was completely fixated on her. They were talking easily on the couch as Quentin flicked cards out of a deck.

“She’s trouble,” Margo said “I’d bet anything their whole summoning incident was her idea.”

“And he’ll do anything she asks him to.”

“I don’t think it’s that serious, El. I think he’ll do anything for anyone who asks, just to get on their good side. He just wants to be loved.”

Eliot hummed at this, contemplating. Quentin was definitely eager to impress and low on self value, Margo was probably right. He needed someone to tell him when to say no, and Eliot was too irresponsible and immature to have that be him. He watched Quentin go and pull a book off a shelf, bring it back to Alice and hurriedly explain something, then call out for a match. No doubt another attempt at whatever the original summoning was, but Eliot didn’t have the mind space to put much thought into it.

“He’s the self sacrificing hero in his own little story,” he said airily “He’s going to wind up in far more dangerous situations if no one puts a stop to it.”

“We’re all going to die young in a blaze of glory.”

-

A book goes missing at one of their parties. Not the one Quentin pulled out, he’s far to respectful. One Sunderland needs, ASAP apparently. He managed to get her off his case about it temporarily, through sheer charm, but she was still one intimidating woman. As soon as she was out of sight of the cottage, he practically sprinted to find Quentin, who his brain jumped to as the first logical accomplice to finding a solution to this problem. He’d proven himself good in a pinch and trouble seemed to just roll right off his back, so Eliot was going to try to get a little luck from that. It was no surprise that he found him sitting on the couch with Alice, who he seemed to be trying to convince to go to Margo for help. Eliot didn’t have time to feel touched by Quentin’s devotion to his best friend, so he quite literally dragged him out of the room by his arm.

“What do you need?” Quentin huffed out as he ran after Eliot into another room.

Eliot launched into an explanation of the missing book, and he almost forgot how knew this all was to Quentin as volume two flew out of the box and Quentin looked absolutely terrified and utterly confused.

“She’s going to lead us to her mate.”

“Oh…” Quentin started “I’m sorry, how sentient exactly are the books here?”

“Enough. I mean, I don’t really know how one would gauge that. They only respond to certain things, mostly each other.”

“And how is it- uh… she going to lead us to the other one?”

“Well she’d only being destructive in here because she’s caged in. If we gave her open skies she’d fly right there. Problem is, we need the other book back, so we can’t let them go free, so if we get her back in the box we can just follow where she tries to lead us.”

“Right, of course,” said Quentin “So is it on campus?”

“If it were, I wouldn’t need you to help. Keep up. No, we’re venturing out to the city, now let’s go.”

-

Eliot didn’t like hedge witches. It was something between very much thinking himself above them, and the deep down knowledge that if he wasn’t in Brakebills, he’d absolutely be one of them. The number of magical problems they caused far outweighed the accomplishments they’d ever achieved, and anything they did ever accomplish could be traced back to being stolen from someone safely educated in magic, or bartered for a steep desperate price. So it was a little shocking to see Quentin’s little friend from the party they’d snuck out for last week in their little hide out. It definitely put a finer point on Margo’s theory that Quentin would be friends with anyone who gave him the time of day.

It was obviously surprising to Quentin too though, and he just barely managed to hold onto the shuddering cardboard box containing the overly excited book that could sense it’s mate was close. Eliot was able to get them out of there quick enough, trying to take advantage of the state of slight shock Quentin seemed to be in to usher him out without a real conversation with the girl. Associating with hedge witches only spelled trouble, they like to drag anyone and everyone down into the dirt with them. Unfortunately she followed them outside and Quentin seemed deaf to his instructions not to talk to her.

There were some obvious unresolved issues that lay deeper than the surface of magic they were pretending to argue about, and when Quentin brought it up Eliot could feel this might be a while, so he pulled out a cigarette. He felt a twinge of guilt at the two-for-one charity case line Quentin said, hoping he didn’t think him and Margo actually saw him that way. He did genuinely like Quentin, it wasn’t just pity. It was a little surreal to be witnessing this argument, almost like the two were unaware of everyone else around them, completely focused on just hurting the other person with their words as much as possible.

“Stop slumming because you're pissed that you lost for once in your life! I'm sorry, but I mean it. You could really get hurt doing this shit, and for what? Grow up.” 

Eliot didn’t even know that Quentin had it in him to be that harsh, it was kind of impressive truth be told. He couldn’t hear what Julia said next, but he could see in Quentin’s face that the blow hit when he turned back toward Eliot. Eliot tried to break through the awkward silence with some sarcastic applause for the… pretty horrible way that was handled, but that was obviously the wrong way to go since Q wouldn’t even look at him and gave him a wide berth as he stalked away angrily. So when they got back to the cottage he gave Quentin the best peace offering he could really think of, an expensive bottle of red wine for them to drink their feelings away with. 

Quentin, however, seemed dead set in wallowing in the miserable feelings. Eliot poured him another glass of wine and was going to make a suggestive remark about what Quentin could do instead of talking about this, when Kady, who’d been pounding on the cottage door for the past hour, finally blasted it in. So he poured her a glass like any good host and the three sat on the couch with their respective glasses in tense silence for far too long, until Quentin finally mumbled something about turning in for the night and got up to leave.

-

Quentin seemed more mopey than ever after the big blow out with Julia and then Alice leaving mysteriously, he spent his time in his room alone, saying he was focusing on his studies. After a few days of this Margo marched into his room and dragged him out.

“No, Quentin, we’re having a party. I’m sick of your misery hanging over all of us like a dark, gloomy cloud. So, grab a drink, join in the festivities or I swear to god I’m bringing the whole thing to your room.”

And that was enough of a kick in the ass for him, he followed Margo’s orders well enough, grabbing drink after drink in a way that Eliot’s depressed ass could definitely relate to. Eliot got distracted with the festivities too much to really give it much thought, and it wasn’t until the next day when Quentin’s former roommate showed up at his bedroom door demanding they search the house for Q that he really gave it another.

“Where the hell is Quentin?” Penny demanded, walking right in and starting to search Eliot’s room, lifting the crumpled blankets then crouching down to look under the bed.

“Okay, first off he’s not in here,” Eliot started, filing away that the first place the psychic thought to look for Quentin was his bed for later, “Second, in polite society we greet people before searching their property without explanation. I think that crystal he stole from you was confiscated so there’s no use beating him up for it. Plus, if he was my lover and you were trying to harm him I would use telekinesis to stop you.”

“What? No I don’t give a shit about that, I think he’s in trouble.”

“I was under the impression you hated his guts,” Eliot said carefully “I’m pretty sure Q is as well, what’s with the concern?”

“Hey, not that it’s any of your damn business, but it’s more complicated than that,” Penny brushed him off and exiting the room “Quit being a dick and help me find him, I thought he was your friend? Shouldn’t him being in some sort of trouble concern you?”

“Look it was a party,” Eliot was seeing the appeal that had drawn Kady in to this guy, he was passionate and stubborn as well as handsome and surly and reluctant to ever fully cover his chest with clothing, “He’s probably sleeping it off under something or someone or…”

“Hey,” no sooner than he gave her a passing thought, Kady walked through the door.“I had to run into the city. What's up?” 

“Your lover-man here thinks our little Q got roofied last night.”

That seemed to spark something in Kady, though she didn’t say anything yet. Eliot didn’t want to seem paranoid but something was a bit suspicious in her behavior.

“Look, we covered the house,” Penny said, bumping hard into Eliot’s shoulder as he stalked back into the common room, “Let's start checking the lab, the libraries, or whatever.” 

Eliot could definitely admire the level of urgency and dedication Penny was putting into finding Quentin, so he guessed it really was more complicated than Penny just outright hating Q.

“I know where he is.” Kady admitted. 

Well wasn’t that interesting. She led them to her bedroom closet, where it appeared Quentin had buried himself under an assortment of any clothing item he deemed to be even vaguely blanket-like. He felt a bit of relief as he saw the soft rise and fall of the boy’s chest, even though he was completely unresponsive to Penny slapping him lightly in the face.

“He's breathing, that's something,” Eliot couldn’t help the concerned look he knew was plastered to his face at the moment.

“Let me try.” Kady said, attempting a spell to revive him with absolutely no results, “This is bad.”

“How bad?” Penny demanded.

“‘We need to tell the dean’ bad,” Eliot confirmed.

And they did, they brought him back to the physical cottage where they’d left Q laying on the couch. Eliot knew it wouldn’t help whatever was going on in his head but he needed to do something, anything, and making him a little more comfortable was the only doable thing for him. The dean gave limited explanation as to what he was doing, putting some sort of metal scorpion on Q’s face and reciting an enchantment, something about a prison and a desert, then asked Penny to help guide Quentin out of his nightmare. Eliot watched in mild horror as Quentin choked down the bug that crawled into his mouth.

“What the fuck,” he whispered.

“That just means it’s doing it’s job,” Fogg reassured him.

They waited patiently while Penny astral projected into Quentin’s dream, but when he jerked back into his own body, Quentin hadn’t returned with him.

“It isn't working. What happened?” Henry Fogg demanded.

“I don't know. I went there. I told him, the Matarese did his thing, and then everything went black.”

Eliot looked behind him to notice that Kady had slipped out during the commotion. He tried not to make a snap judgment because she had looked appropriately worried as they’d stood there, waiting and waiting for Q to wake up. But, the worry for Quentin, looking small and fragile on the couch, was becoming unbearable and he felt like it would cause him to lash out at someone soon. 

Luckily Kady returned with the perfect scapegoat, Julia. She was the one who cast this spell over Quentin, trapping him in an inescapable hell of his own mind. He wondered if she had even the faintest inkling of just how cruel that was. She had to know her childhood best friend had suffered with mental illness his whole life, how could she justify condemning him to an eternity of that? She offered the exact wording of the spell, and Eliot fought off a fresh wave of panic as the dean said it was too late for that to help.

“It was just supposed to be a joke!” Julia tried to justify her actions to everyone in the room, But Eliot really wasn’t in the mood to listen to an excuse so weak.

“Yeah, bullshit. You did it to get even,” he spat at her.

“Oh, fuck you! Somebody help him.”

As if that wasn’t what they were all there to do.

“You have any idea where he is right now? Why would you do this?” Penny almost seemed like he was the most outraged about what was happening to Quentin, and to be fair he was the one with a first hand look at what was happening in his head at the moment.

“She didn’t,” Henry Fogg said, apparently aware of something the rest of them were in the dark about “Not by herself. Did you?”

Eliot could see another round of nauseating tears coming as the girl almost imperceptibly shook her head. 

“Well, who the fuck are you working with then?” Penny demanded, growing more and more impatient with Julia by the second.

“Marina Andrieski,” Julia sniffled.

The dean cursed at this. Eliot had heard of her, powerful and promising student who’d gotten a little too careless in her attempt to make herself powerful. She’d been expelled and stripped of her memories only three weeks before graduating, as the story goes. Everyone who’d known her seemed to agree it was really better off that way, as cruel as it sounds. She’d terrorized her whole class.

Quentin suddenly sat bolt upright, spitting out the bug and letting out several hacking coughs, trying to catch his breath. He steadied himself on the back of the couch and took in his surroundings, seemingly trying to get a hold of his bearings.

“Hey,” Eliot said, perching on the back of the couch next to Q and patting him on the head comfortingly “Somebody woke up.”

“Took your damn time,” Penny observed, easily slipping right back into his perpetual annoyance at Quentin.

“Somebody get him some brandy,” Henry ordered.

“Flying in,” Eliot easily breezed out of the room, taking the excuse to collect himself in another room, and giving Q a chance to do the same without feeling overcrowded. Then he paused, remembering something, “Wait… where’s the hedge bitch?”

She’d vanished completely from the room, and not even in the slinking out way Kady had perfected. One second she’d been there, the next she disappeared without a physical trace. After Quentin got a few shaky sips of brandy in him, he was ushered off to the dean’s office for some sort of interrogation. Eliot didn’t really think that was fair, given what Q had just been through, but when did he ever agree with the way Henry Fogg ran his school.

-


	5. Chapter 5

-

Quentin went right from that agonizing betrayal, to learning his dad had cancer, to accidentally killing the school’s unofficial mascot (to be fair, he was a long suffering mascot who was probably in a lot of pain on a daily basis). The boy just didn’t seem to be able to catch a break, except in Welter’s, which was coincidentally the most mind numbing thing Eliot knew of. 

Then it was the Trials, which Eliot had to admit was thrilling to hold in the most theatrical manner possible. And Quentin did well, along with his friends. Then the first years all flew to Brakebills South, and afterwards everything would be different. It always was.

When Eliot met Mike he was… charmed, thoroughly. Margo remained unimpressed no matter how many times he tried to remind her of her advice to distract himself. But Eliot swore he felt goddamn butterflies, and he actually felt happy. That in itself seemed like a godsend, and Mike was turning out to be much more than a pretty distraction. So when Quentin returned all entangled in something complicated with Alice, Eliot was great, he was wonderful. A dream guy was grilling for him. So maybe he provoked a little added turmoil by shining a light on the fact that Q and Alice had obviously been sleeping together, but he couldn’t really help that.

Mike made him nervous, he was suddenly unsure of everything he was usually confident about. All for a guy who turned down a mixed drink of Eliot’s own creation for a beer. Who admits to knowing nothing about food and wine, and there Eliot is explaining a hidden part of his past he never meant to expose. He’s blurting out that he comes from Indiana, from farmers, and Mike is kissing him.

Eliot doesn’t even remember falling asleep in the common room, and was extremely confused when he was awoken by urgent pounding on the door, followed by some curt questions about Mike’s whereabouts. He was led away from the cottage briskly, informed there’d been an incident. When they finally got to the infirmary and he was put in front of Fogg, it only got worse.

“What the hell is going on, Henry?”

“I have asked you so many times not to address me like that, Mr. Waugh,” the dean said in an exasperated tone, “Mike McCormick… attacked Quentin and Penny in one of the courtyards this evening, leaving Penny gravely injured.”

Eliot immediately numbed, and fell, luckily, onto the couch behind him. Mike attacked Quentin and Penny? He’d only just met Quentin that morning, and as far as Eliot knew had no idea who Penny even was. What in the world could have provoked that?

“So I ask again, do you have any idea whatsoever on the whereabouts of Mr. McCormick.”

Eliot shook his head slowly, he felt like he was underwater. He reached into his pocket for his enchanted flask and took a long sip. At some point Quentin entered the room and explained nervously. Mike had approached him and Penny, appearing to need directions back to the physical cottage, then rushed at Q with a knife. Penny had literally jumped in front of it to save Quentin, and Quentin shot battle magic at Mike to get him off Penny before he’d actually managed to kill him. Eliot could only respond to this information by offering Q the flask, which he took gratefully. Alice came to find Quentin, make sure he was really unharmed and to ask after Penny, and told them where Mike was being held, somewhat reluctantly.

Quentin came along with him when he rushed out of the infirmary, Eliot was unsure if it was for emotional support or to find out more about what had actually happened and he wasn’t sure whether he cared. Sunderland was guarding the door, and stretched out her arms to block entry.

“No, you can’t go in there,” she said forcefully, just as Fogg opened the door.

Eliot immediately ran up to him and grabbed a hold of his arm.

“What did he say?” he demanded.

“Nothing useful,” the dean replied in a tone that was meant to brush Eliot off.

“You’re just gonna leave him in there?” he asked desperately, he just needed to see Mike, understand. What was his point of view? Nothing was making any sense.

“I’m not letting him go.”

“No, I mean that’s inhumane.”

Fogg started explaining that there was magical circuit court system, they were sending a representative. Quentin piped up to ask what they would do with Mike, Eliot had almost forgotten he was there.

“They have facilities,” Fogg explained “But the exact punishment, it depends.”

He shoots down Eliot’s suggestion that Mike could have been mind controlled, even though Quentin says there was something wrong with his eyes. 

“But there was always the chance that he did this, intentionally.”

With that, Henry Fogg walks away from the two of them, leaving Eliot blinking in shock, still trying to get his bearings in all this. Quentin mumbles something about getting some rest and he takes Eliot by the arm and leads him back to the cottage. They sit on the couch all night, Q never leaving his side. Alice comes at some point, talking the whole incident over with Quentin, but Eliot barely pays attention. He just takes the occasional drink from his flask, always passing it to Q who has after all been through yet another traumatic experience. Alice eventually goes up to her room, and Quentin still stays at Eliot’s side, trying to support his friend even though he was the one who almost got killed. Eventually Q falls asleep on his shoulder, but Eliot stays awake. The thought of sleep never occurs to him, he’s replaying every moment of the past day over and over in his head, and it doesn’t make one tiny bit of sense. Not without mind control.

In the morning he mechanically takes a shower and puts on fresh clothes, then heads straight to where Mike is being held. Quentin goes to check on Penny, which makes sense, the guy literally saved his life again. He’s able to get past Sunderland, he must truly look so broken that she takes some sort of pity on him. It takes him a little bit to realize but…

Mike never knew him.

Mike was never truly into Eliot. Eliot never knew who Mike actually was. Whoever had been controlling Mike McCormick was the only person Eliot had been speaking to the entire time.

That’s who charmed Eliot. An attempted murderer who had tried to kill his friend.

He takes a walk to try to clear his head, it doesn’t do much good. He goes back to try to talk to Mike a little more, beg him to say just a little part of it was real. But, when he rounds the corner, he sees Mike covered in blood about to kill Henry Fogg, and Eliot’s instincts kick in. Mike’s neck is snapped and he’s laying dead on the floor within seconds and all the emotions Eliot’s been suppressing come pouring out in a heaving, sobbing panic attack. Sunderland eventually finds them, gets him and Fogg to the infirmary where Henry is revived and Eliot is eventually able to compose himself enough to get back to the cottage.

-

Eliot’s coping mechanisms could never really be described as healthy, when he was younger it was eating his feelings, now it’s drinking his feelings. Or taking enough drugs to forget his feelings, whichever he got to first. Not to mention meaningless sex with strangers. There weren’t many in the way of actual strangers on the Brakebills campus, but Eliot wasn’t terribly familiar with anyone outside his immediate circle. His immediate circle being mostly dispersed, seeing as Margo was still vacationing, Quentin was fully jumping into his new relationship with Alice and not really paying attention to much else, and that kind of exhausted the list of people who’s names Eliot could remember in the state he was in.

He was really trying not to be a complete disaster though, and that was the sad part. He pathetically wasn’t able to manage even that. So when he saw his chance at some sort of small adventure with Quentin, he took it. He needed some fresh air and to distract himself until Margo was back from Ibiza. It was something about finding a button in a mansion in England, the home of Christopher Plover, the author of the Fillory books. Somehow this button was a direct line to Fillory itself. It was clearly important, even Penny was involved in this one. But, after they got to England, got to the mansion, and started on the tour (which was the only way to enter the house legally and Quentin got extremely excited at the idea), Eliot couldn’t really feel the need to pay too much attention and instead drank through most of it.

They returned later when they wouldn’t be restricted by an overbearing guide keeping a close eye on them. It was clear that this was one of Quentin’s dreams come true, he kept babbling every fun fact he could think of. He was telling Alice how these books had helped him inch a little bit out of a depressive episode,then how she made him happy, when Eliot cracked a safe behind Plover’s desk.

“Guys, stop love-birding and look,” He called out, pulling letters out of it and handing them out. 

Unfortunately nothing interesting or relevant was in his stack, but Alice discovered a letter from the sister to the lawyer asking for a death certificate in wake of Plover’s absence. Quentin and Penny were able to make the connection that Plover had been studying magic and that’s what lead to the author’s disappearance, but disagreed with the outcome. It was all the same to Eliot that they were making some progress, and he wasn’t being totally useless.

They run into the tour guide, convince him to give them information, then he immediately ends up dead. Throat slashed and mouth sewn shut. Pretty fucking horrific. They’re in the middle of getting the hell out of there, then Eliot wakes up in a nursery, tied to a chair across from Alice with a tea party set up between them. This whole trip is turning into a horror movie and Eliot isn’t quite sure this is the distraction he needed.

They’re joined by the ghost of a little girl and Plover’s sister, who poisons the girl. Alice is horrified at the death scene played out in front of her, and all Eliot knows is there is an immediate need to get out of the house before they end up like the tour guide. They’re able to get out, get back in and get the button they were there for thanks to Quentin, then get the hell out. They deduce the Beast has been Plover, and well that’s just another way in which Eliot is sick to his stomach with this whole situation. Alice is struck by a desperate need to help the kid’s ghosts being endlessly tortured in there, and Eliot is drunk and bitter and cruel. He lashes out a bit too much, but she’s just so fucking full of hope and determination and belief that she can actually fix this miserable situation. She can’t, and if Eliot has to be the bad guy so that they don’t all end up as ghosts perpetually running around that sick man’s house then he doesn’t have a really problem with that. He’s not dying for Alice Quinn’s belief that every shitty situation can be rectified if you just have enough faith in your own abilities. He’s being god damn realistic.

He takes it too far, and Quentin lets him know that. Truth be told if there was anything at all that could fix this, he’d be the first one to do it. But there’s no point dying for it if at the end of the day all it does is increase the amount of souls suffering at the same location. He’s tired, of putting up a front to seem alright, of not having his best friend here to talk shit to, of hearing Quentin’s pet name for Alice, of seeing the two awkward nerds being happy together. He’s just dragging everyone down to his level of misery and it’s the most fun he can have right now.

Back at the cottage he’s pouring himself and Penny a drink and feeling vile and empty inside, while Alice looks crushed and teary eyed on the couch. At least she has Quentin’s full attention though. The only upside to this night is that he feels an unspoken tension between himself and Penny and if Eliot takes him upstairs later he might be able to forget about any of this if for only a few moments.

But then Penny had to get too cocky, touch Martin Chatwin’s button when Quentin suggested he not and get transported to… Fillory, Eliot supposes. Ironically, while saying “I stay put until I want to go, period”. There goes that.

-

By the time Margo gets back Eliot is pretty much completely out of it, passing each day through a haze of drugs and alcohol. At one point she takes him to see Professor Lipson to see if there is anything actually wrong with him, but really there’s not much he’s really able to keep track of until she sobers him up enough to go with her to her ex’s apartment, for reasons he can’t really remember. And Margo herself answers the door.

“You see two of you too, right?” he has to ask because he might be able to walk in a mostly straight line but not everything is entirely out of his system, but she nods, looking dumbstruck, “Okay, good. This stuff is finally starting to wear off.”

A moderately attractive guy comes up to the door behind the doppleganger, and looks stunned.

“Margo… uh, I can explain.”

“Explain this, you dick!” she immediately charges at him, then collapses on the floor before she can actually attack him in whatever way she was planning.

Eliot was still hold the door open as the man’s eyes fell to him.

“Hi, I’m Eliot,” he looks at where his friend was still laying on the floor “So are you going to help her to the couch or something or are you really that much of a dick?”

They get Margo situated on the couch, the guy explains that there was a leak in his spell work and he fixes it, Eliot proposes they might as well toast to that because hey, Margo will be fine now. He’s being insensitive, and deep down he knows that. He’s bitter without good reason that Margo has been living it up at Encanto Oculto and Eliot’s been wallowing in his own disgusting desolation. Some part of him blames her for what happened with Mike, and it’s completely unjustified because if had only been a casual fling like she’d wanted for him instead of head over heels in love he wouldn’t be broken inside. What had happened with the djinn and the library only sent him rushing to Mike’s side though, instead of creating a distance and Eliot got swindled by the Beast parading around in an alumni’s skin suit.

Her ex (Eliot knows the guy had to have said his name but Eliot can’t really say he bothered to pay attention) is pouring shots when Margo stirs. She’s understandably upset, and her ex is incredibly entitled, and looking back this is an extremely low point for Eliot because his plan of action is to do lines with the golem of Margo (the Margolem as he refers to her). 

“I brought you here to support me while I fight with my ex, not do lines with the golem,” Margo hisses at him when she pulls him aside.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he snaps back cruelly “I thought this is how we support each other.”

He doesn’t even have a good reason to lash out at Margo, he can’t justify it the way he did with Alice. He’s in a bad place and instead of looking for support he doesn’t know how to ask for he’s self-sabotaging and isolating himself, making sure everyone who matters most to him is upset with him. It’s better than looking completely pathetic and broken.

“Is there something you want to say to me Eliot?”

“No. What is there to say. I like your golem, life is a unicorn shitting rainbows of candy.”

Margo nods slowly and looks down, seeming hurt, almost like she’s fighting off tears.

“I’ll um… I’ll deal with the Margolem myself. Just go home Eliot.”

Seeing Margo hurt just hurts Eliot himself, he just wanted her to be angry at him. This was way worse and the numbness and emptiness just painfully grew inside of him, echoing all the way down where a tiny voice might be telling him to apologize, show his cards, do something you asshole. So he stops to get her favorite liqueur filled chocolates as a peace offering and prepares himself to reach out for help. Because hurting his best friend, his god damn soul mate and the most important person in the known universe, is a sign that he really needs some.

But, it doesn’t go as planned. He mistakes the Margolem’s silence for Margo being icy to him. Suddenly the Margolem’s lips are on his, and in his shock he doesn’t realize what his mistake was until he hears the real Margo exclaim “Oh, Jesus, there she is.” and hurry into the room after her runaway golem.

“She has a bad habit of walking off, although when she does it’s nice to be reminded I have a great ass.”

“I thought you were going to destroy her,” Eliot said, confused and feeling his nerve slip away from him. He gives the real Margo the chocolates then uses the excuse of finding a chaser to take a breather away from the two of them.

-

Probability spells are actual hell to undergo, especially when it shows you that the odds are in the favor of you dying a horrific and bloody death. You think everything you’re experiencing is real until you’ve actually died within the spell and wake up in a cold sweat with the all too recent feeling of choking on your own internal organs. It really wasn’t helping his head space, but Margo seemed to be effected ten times worse by it, visibly shaking and unable to keep the contents of her stomach down when she woke up so Eliot did what he could to reassure her and bring her back to reality each time.

Seven times they woke up from the Beast torturing them to death for the button key to Fillory, one they attempt to go to Fillory, met only by an eerie blank whiteness, and a slight buzzing in their ears. Quentin had been convinced this was the path they should take in the first place, to find a knife that would be able to kill the Beast, and the ill-fated outcome they’ve seen of staying here does a well enough job of convincing the rest of the same. Except Penny, who originally agreed with Quentin, but was now so freaked out by what the probability spell was showing him that he decided to get as far away from everyone else as possible. Pretty easy for a traveler. Though he was being hunted by the Beast for that very ability so the blessings of that seemed not to be worth it.

So they plan on using battle magic to get to Fillory, all very exciting and illegal and most likely not a very smart choice. Luckily Eliot is pretty decent at sneaking into Sunderland’s office and leaving with things he shouldn’t without getting caught, so he’s able to find one of the banned texts for them to try to learn from. Turns out to be a dead end because not one of them is able to make any one of the spells work. Focus turns to him and Quentin, who’ve done battle magic before, but both admit it was a fluke. Quentin says he just followed Kady’s example from when she blasted the portal Quentin, Alice, Penny, and herself had accidentally created for the Beast. Eliot had forgotten about her, she never came back from Brakebills South and rumor was she’d been passing information to hedge bitches.

Quentin and Alice are able to get her location from Penny (who really hadn’t strayed off campus much), interestingly enough it Q’s hedge bitch ex-friend’s apartment. If they weren’t so desperate not to be murdered, Eliot would have more questions about this whole arrangement, but they’re there to ask for help. They give her a run-down of their idea to meet the Beast in Fillory, and she’s extremely unimpressed with that plan of action. To bad it’s literally the best they have.

The only thing she has to offer is information on a spell that temporarily gets rid of your emotions, effectively clearing your mind and focusing you on the battle magic and nothing else. Only three hours at a time, or the return of your emotions is a too much of a shock. It’s a spell to literally put your emotions in a little bottle, how very poetic. It makes Alice nervous, but to Eliot it sounds like a reprieve. Apparently the emotions are very intense when they return, but hey he was killing two birds with one stone, if only for three hours at a time. Penny agrees to come along, and he looks like he’s been through hell. They’d heard that he OD’d to keep the Beast’s voice out of his head, Alice had found him on his dorm room floor when she went to first tell him about the plan. Not a single one of them had their shit together mentally, and it wasn’t really creating a positive picture of how this was going to end.

The experience is weird, Eliot’s never felt so undistracted in his life. He absorbs information without having to process it through emotion, and they all are easily able to perform the spells in the text. It hardly feels like practice, let alone a challenge, and if it weren’t for the time limit he practically knew was important, he would be hard pressed to find a logical reason to put his emotions back. He downs them, then is immediately hit with the emotional equivalent of a truck. He leaves the room to get a drink and is followed by a teary eyed Margo, completely open with the return of her feelings.

“Why aren't we friends anymore, El?” she sniffs, and Eliot can feel his heart shattering even more.

“We're best friends,” he shoots back quickly.

“Can we be honest for five seconds, please?” she begs.

“Honestly... I'd rather not,” he replies, and he really can’t help how the words are coming out right now because this is all too much for him, he feels completely overwhelmed. Every single emotion he’s feeling is so much more intense than he ever knew it would be and he feels like he might actually physically explode from it all.

“You don't care about me.”

“That is stupid. We are going to Fillory to save everything. It'll all be fine, like before, except even better,” he really hopes that’s true, he really wants this mission to save the universe will fix everything that’s broken inside him too because nothing is better for a damaged soul than being a hero, right? “Now catch up. This is Daddy's third drink, Bambi.”

He kisses her on the cheek and leaves her standing there, tears still running down her face, to offer everyone else a drink because he can’t be the only one who needs one after that. He’s not wrong, and they are pretty hungover the next morning but ready to try again by the night time. All except Alice and Penny who want to try without the bottles this time. So Margo, Q, and himself take turns shielding themselves and sparring while bottle-less Alice and Penny spend the time trying to knock over a bottle. They don’t pay as close attention as they should to the time, and stretched it to three and a half hours by mistake. 

When the emotions come back this time, it’s even worse. It took more than a couple bottles of wine to somewhat wind them down, and Eliot couldn’t get a thought out of his head as he and Quentin sat in front of the fire.

“Remember that spring at the foot of the mountains in Fillory?” he asked, more to bring it up than to actually ask because he knew that Quentin would understand what he was referring to.

“It was Chatwin's Torrent,” Q responded instantly “Thought you didn't remember the books.”

“Rupert was wounded, right?” Eliot plowed on, choosing to avoid that question, “Till the spring healed his leg? Do you think it's real?”

“Some of the good parts have to be. At least I hope so,” Q let out a small giggle, he looked so beautiful bathed in the warm firelight, “Why?”

“Because I probably have liver damage. On that note, we're out of wine,” he said, giving Quentin what he hoped was a meaningful enough look for Q to get up and retrieve another bottle. Obviously not because he had to clear his throat and try again, “On that note, we're out of wine? Fine, I'll go.”

His attempt to get back up was hilariously disastrous, but many years of being a functional alcoholic gave him the grace not to spill the little bit of wine left in his glass. They both chuckled as Eliot brought his and Quentin’s glasses together in cheers. Quentin is attempting to help Eliot to his feet, or at least back into his chair when Margo walks over to help

“Jesus, you two,” she says, a little slurred but no where near as smashed as Eliot. 

The three of them manage to make it to his room, though most of the work is probably done by Margo and Q because Eliot doesn’t remember much except that he’s senselessly babbling. He probably briefly passes out on the bed, because thats where he wakes up. To his two best friends making out, and Margo was getting Quentin out of his shirt in the middle of Eliot’s bedroom.

“Okay, I’m definitely in,” Eliot says sitting up, suddenly very interested in what was happening around him. It’s a testament to how drunk Q was that he didn’t even seem caught in the act when he heard Eliot, he just looked at him with a sort of intensity and hunger in his eyes that kind of stunned Eliot in silence. Margo gets to him first, her lips soft but desperate. And there is so much love between the two of them, and sure it’s damaged right now and this really isn’t the way it’s supposed to be for either of them, but shit it’s just nice to be kissed like this by someone who knows him and loves him so deeply.

There’s really not a way for a threesome to go seamlessly, with no awkward moments at all. Add the factors of Quentin seeming like a pretty serially monogamous guy who probably hasn’t experimented much and Margo being his best friend and not the gender he’d usually go for… well there’s always going to be someone feeling a little sidelined. Sure, Eliot’s had encounters with an unfortunate amount of couples looking to add some spice into their sex life, and he’s said yes to more than he’d care to admit but it’s usually not something that’s really his thing. But then there’s Q, and there’s fucking fire between them. His long hair is a bit messy from where Margo had her hands in it, and Quentin’s a little unsure where to place his arms but he meets Eliot with such enthusiasm and it just sparks something.

Margo helps Eliot up out of his sweater too, him and Q breaking apart to let it happen, and Q seems a little breathless and pink and Eliot isn’t sure if that’s from his current lack of top or just the fact that he’s been kissing two people and in general hasn’t had much time for breathing but he’s so beautiful and Eliot could just fall in love with Quentin Coldwater. But he’s not his to love and he hopes to god nothing so stupid comes out of his mouth right now.

“Is one of you going to help me out of my top, or are you going to stare at each other like idiots until morning?” Margo asked, calling attention back to herself. They both reached over at the same time and she smirked as she lifted her arms to let them each pull one side up over her head, “Good boys.”

She let Quentin pull her back into another passionate kiss and Eliot focused his attention on biting beautiful little marks into Q’s neck, reaching his hands between the other two to undo Q’s fly, then reaching around to unhook Margo’s bra. She pushes Quentin backwards, with enough force for both him and Eliot to fall backwards onto the bed behind them, making sure they’re both paying attention to her while she peels off the bra. 

Part of what made Margo and Eliot such good friends was that they both loved being the center of attention and weren’t afraid of a little healthy competition to be just that. Which is how Q ends up getting finger fucked by Eliot while Margo sits on his face. Eliot had his brief doubts that this was going to be too much for him, but judging by the sounds Margo started making once she’d climbed on top of him he was pretty adept with his tongue, and even though he kept moaning in way they made Eliot shiver while he pushed his lubed up fingers into Quentin, he didn’t get scolded by Margo for the distraction so his focus must be pretty easily divided. Must be the brain so used to worrying about a thousand different things at once. 

It was a shame he wasn’t able to see Quentin’s face as he was being spread open, Eliot thought as he added a third finger, but Eliot was able to get some satisfaction from seeing his hands tightened where they gripped Margo’s waist with each push, and the noises they both made seemed like this was beneficial all around. Margo dismounted and lay on the bed next to Quentin, grabbing his hand and leading it to between her thighs. Quentin caught on quick, deftly slipping his index and middle finger inside her and using his thumb to tease her clit, and Margo’s breath hitched in her throat.

“Fuck him already, El, I’m laying here to enjoy the view,” she said in attempt at her usual authority but coming off a lot more airy from the pleasure.

“Q?” Eliot asked, taking in this image of Quentin, mouth still wet and shiny from Margo, pupils blown wide, cock hard and leaking a bit with pre-cum, his hair splayed out on the pillow behind him creating a sort of halo. Angelic.

“Please, please. El I need you,” he whined out, his voice rough from want, and Eliot felt that spark run through him again as he pushed into Q. 

Quentin’s mouth fell open, a small whimper coming out, his fingers curled inside Margo in response and she groaned loudly, bucking her hips shamelessly. Eliot started his pace slowly, seeing both Quentin and Margo come undone as Quentin matches his pace while fingering Margo, both their heads thrown back, though Margo was true to her word and kept her eyes on them through her lashes. She’s the first to come, high pitched whines only egging Quentin on as he follows her guidance to circle her clit faster and faster. when she comes down and lays a soft kiss on his shoulder, he brings his hand, slick from being inside her, down to his own cock and starts stroking. Eliot speeds up, beginning to feel his orgasm approaching, and Quentin opening his eyes and catching his gaze right as he finishes, cum splattering onto his stomach, him tightening around Eliot as he let out a cry was enough to send El over the edge.

He feels dizzy from it all, falling onto the bed where Margo shifts over to give him space. The wine, the sex, the released emotions simmering to the surface and boiling over. He falls asleep feeling loved, sandwiched between the two most important people he knows.

-

He wakes to Quentin fleeing the room after Alice, who’d found her way in here and left in tears after realizing what had happened. He hears her shouting accusations (well founded) and insults (well crafted) at Q. When he gets dressed and goes down to the common room, Q is full of cold anger. Quentin blames Eliot and Margo, he flat out says it. No matter how many times Margo asserts that they aren’t to blame for how Quentin and Alice’s relationship was falling apart, it was just another point on the long list of how he was a terrible worthless person. Eliot apparently has a little bit of shame left deep down, and it’s ignited knowing he ruined one of his best friend’s relationships with his own inability to keep his dick to himself.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end! I hope this wasn't a mess, thanks so much for reading :)


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